|
Those who know me know how restless I can get when I have these strange desires. Lately I'd got myself into a nasty mess. I'd wanted to be so rational that in the end everything had become too precisely planned. This was the method: pick the summit, plan the route, schedule the times, reach the goal and run off... and this made me feel bad... The midweek outing allowed me, at least this time, to be, so to speak … less rigid... to feel freer, carefree among the summits of my beloved mountains.I'd set off with the idea of putting skis on, skins on and away... to discover the area. The imaginary route had as its ideal destination Monte della Corte, starting from Passo Godi. I arrive late; when I put my skis on it's nine in the morning. As the legendary “Oracle” had predicted, there would be days of ultra-stable weather, sun, clear sky and icy air. And so it was. The sharp, well-contrasted colours of the snow make the profile of the mountains stand out clearly against the blue of the sky. Serra di Rocca Chiarano, Monte Godi and all the minor summits are white with snow and the contrast is sharp. With the skins I manage to move without too much effort on this insubstantial snow. Over the last week the intense frost hasn't allowed the metamorphism of the ice crystals. Only on the surface is there a crust of just 2-3 centimetres of partly frozen snow, which is still very uneven. In the lower layers the snowpack is still porous and without skis you sink in a long way. At times even the skis tend to sink into the snowpack. I reach the Stazzo dello Zio Mas (a stazzo is a shepherds' stone enclosure), taking my time to breathe, to photograph the landscape but above all to savour the pleasure of being there, here and now. Everything seems to be going well, then when the real climb begins I start to suffer for no apparent reason. I get overtaken by two elderly chaps moving on cross-country skis. They climb easily even without skins. They say they're from Scanno; they look like two chamois and, despite their age, they leave me behind without batting an eyelid... I feel ridiculous and clumsy but I keep going. Having climbed the first hill along the path I'm following, I find myself facing a paradox pure and simple: there are two signs: the first is the sign for the Monti della Corte hiking circuit “Il Campitello” and a little higher up the sign “Riserva Integrale del Parco” (the park's strict reserve). What to do? Go on or stop? The park really ought to sort this out. To preserve the park, either take down the sign for the hiking route or take down the Strict Reserve sign. I think it over, but when I see that the two hikers from Scanno are carrying on too... I carry on as well. This paradox leaves me baffled because, while on the one hand I keep thinking that the Park and nature must be preserved, on the other, as a hiker, I feel deeply hurt by such drastic bans over such vast areas of land. Soon I'll have to make a choice about this, but I put off thinking it through until another time. Halfway up the climb towards the Ferroio di Scanno I realise I have no breath. I take two steps and stop. It's real breathlessness. I take two more steps and stop to breathe. Nothing doing, the day is already over. I eye a rocky spur a little above the Ferroio di Scanno and point my skis straight at it. Two steps and stop. Two more steps … breathe. When I reach the top of the spur I'm at 1780 metres. I'm wrecked. I'm gasping for breath. But what I see is incredible. Every time I'd come to the mountains of this area I'd always found thick fog ready to block my view of the landscape. From this col in front of Monte del Campitello you can see the Marsicano group and in the distance the wonderful view of the Petroso. I stop for half an hour to breathe; my heartbeat shows no sign of slowing and the breathlessness goes on. It's the first time I've been unable to get my breath back. From the col I descend about 50 metres to the Votive Stele dedicated to Pope John Paul II, a plaque set into a stone in 2008 in memory of a visit by the Holy Father to these places on 12 August 2003. In fact the view has something magical about it. I stop for another hour to enjoy this splendid landscape a little longer. I take some photos, eat a sandwich and drink, I drink an awful lot, because the high sun has brought with it an inexplicable heat. The time comes to go down and put the skis back on. I have to put into practice the ski lessons I learned last year. I take off the skins, load the rucksack onto my shoulders, zip up my jacket because I already know I'll be swallowing quite a lot of snow. And indeed putting skis back on after a year is like being born into the world all over again. The approach is really negative. I fall once, twice, three times. But I can't complain, that's why I'm here. A few turns all crooked on the snow and then off, face down. Overall the return is more tiring than the way up. When I can't use the skis on the little climbs … I have to walk. I sink in up to my knees. On the few short descents I still manage a few nice turns, but there's still everything to learn, and becoming a mediocre skier would already be an important goal. A day of pure exploration, from the hiking point of view, from the sporting point of view and, obviously, from the inner point of view. I discover that, even though everything went wrong, I can think it was a positive day in which I learned something new. And as I always say, when things go badly then there's a lot to learn... |
Photo gallery
Fact sheet
- Hike fact sheet
Fact sheet not yet available...